


two for mirth: POV and Timestamps

by OtherCat



Series: two for mirth [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anti-Bloodsport! Karkat, Canon-Typical Violence, Dave resents the hell out of his career change, Gladiator! Dave, Gladiators, Karkat would have preferred sex toys to a person, M/M, Sex Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2018-07-22 23:28:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7457851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtherCat/pseuds/OtherCat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Now about that gift I got you, remember how you’ve been all wistful about your concupiscent quadrants? Well I got you something to fix that.”</p>
<p> “What,” Karkat said blankly. “Gamzee no, tell me you didn’t get me sex toys.”</p>
<p> The good news is that it's not sextoys</p>
<p>The bad news is that it's a person.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>POV shifts and time stamps for <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5162840/chapters/11890364">two for mirth</a> originally posted on my <a href="http://othercat2.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dave's POV when he's told he's been sold off as a concubine

Dave is watching vids of his last fight when there’s an alert that someone is outside his respite block door. “Come in,” he says, and gets to his feet when he sees its one of Master Terhun’s personal assistants, a blue named Perris. They don’t usually come to the gladiator wing unless something important comes up, like a party or an exhibition. (Or something serious like a reprimand or a sale. Dave was fairly confident it wasn’t something like that though.) “Good evening, sir,” Dave says.

“Evening, Strider,” Perris says. “Master Terhun wants to speak with you, as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir, should I dress, or go as I am?” Which was barefoot and wearing his usual house clothes, jeans and a t-shirt with Master Terhun’s ring logo.

“Semi-formal would be best,” Perris says. For a moment he gives Dave an odd look, but it clears away into his usual neutral “I have important business you are keeping me from” face.

“Yes sir,” Dave says, and starts to look for a clean suit and his “meeting people” shoes. It sounded like he might be meeting someone. Maybe an interviewer, or one someone Master Terhun wanted to reward or impress. (This had actually happened a few times, going out with with a well-to-do noble fan, or one of Master’s employees from one of his businesses.)

“Strider,” Perris says suddenly.

Dave looks up, surprised Perris was still there. “Sir?” 

“You’re a good fighter, with a great deal of potential,” Perris says. “I had my doubts when you first came here, you were so small back then–but proved yourself on the training field and in the ring. The household is truly proud of you.”

“Thank you?” Dave says, but Perris has hurried off. “Well that wasn’t ominous at all,” Dave mutters, and gets dressed. Dave heads for Master Terhun’s office in the “business” section of the hive, trying not to look as nervous as he feels. Calm, gameface on,ready to take on anything. He thinks about anything that might have gone wrong, bad press, a challenge from a first tier veteran (Oh god, what if it’s a challenge from Truesteel? Awesome, pretty much gauranteed to be fatal, but awesome. But that would be dumb, Truesteel is a goddamn legend and Dave is second tier and more importantly not a troll. Even if Truesteel did actually answer that fanmail Dave sent him when he was six sweeps. Though okay, it had probably been from one of Truesteel’s entourage, but he signed it.) Master Terhun’s receptionist sees him, and waves him into the office.

Master Terhun is alone, and looks very serious. Very very serious. “Dave, please have a seat.”

“Yes master,” Dave says, and sits down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Good posture, calm, attentive, politely curious. “You wanted to see me?”

Master Terhun nods. “Yes.” For a moment the seadweller just sits there with a frown before saying, “Dave, I want you to know that I am proud of your successes as a fighter. You’ve taken on opponents I was frankly hesitant about setting you against, but you’ve almost always come out on top. You’re one of the best gladiators I’ve been privileged to own, but I’m afraid that you’ve somehow drawn the attention of someone I can’t protect you from.”

“Wouldn’t that have to be the Empress, Master?” Dave asks. This is a joke, because the Empress doesn’t run gladiators. He’s keeping his face calm as possible and he’s joking, because he’s apparently been sold to someone Master Terhun is “outranked” by and doesn’t consider an ally. Someone Dave might need “protection” from.

The seadweller smiles slightly. The “brave boy” smile. Dave remembers getting hella sick but still wanting to train, actually arguing about it, and getting that smile, and being ordered to bed. Getting that smile after losing a fight, and being terrified of losing his place, and being reassured and told that he’d done his best. Dave isn’t reassurred now. "The Grand Highblood has apparently taken an interest in you,“ Master Terhun says. “He was especially impressed by your fight with the indigos Pitchfit and Blakfist.”

“So he wants me too fight for him?” Dave asks. “The Grand Highblood doesn’t run gladiators, does he?”

“No,” Master Terhun says, looking extremely displeased. “He wants you as a pitch concubine.”

“Concubine, master?” Dave asks. Not squeaks. Asks. The Grand Highblood was huge. If what was in his pants matched the rest of him, Dave was going to die.

“For his moirail. A mutant,” Master says with extreme distaste.

Dave isn’t sure if it’s because being a concubine is a waste of a good gladiator, or because being the concubine of a mutant is a waste of a good concubine. (Which Dave isn’t. Dave has met courtesans and concubines and he salutes their ability to put up with their highblood masters, and he knows he does not own the poise, dignity or people skills of even the worst concubine or professional quadrant faciliator.)

“Master…” he says, and can’t honestly think of anything to say, because this is a done deal and he is so fucked. And probably will be fucked. Fuck.

“I did everything I could to talk him out of it, Dave,” Master Terhun says. “He was adamant about wanting you.”

“Yes master,” Dave says. “I–I guess I’ll miss you, master. It was an honor to serve you.”

“You have a few days to pack and prepare yourself before the Grand Highblood arrives to pick you up,” Master Terhun says sadly. “It’s an honor that he’s coming himself, instead of having you delivered.”

“Yes master,” Dave says. And tries to look confident. And proud. “I’m very honored.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Lines that amused the hell out of me writing them:** Oh god, what if it’s a challenge from Truesteel? Awesome, pretty much gauranteed to be fatal, but awesome. But that would be dumb, Truesteel is a goddamn legend and Dave is second tier and more importantly not a troll. Even if Truesteel did actually answer that fanmail Dave sent him when he was six sweeps. Though okay, it had probably been from one of Truesteel’s entourage, but he signed it.
> 
> ~~Dave you are too old to still be crushing that hard on that cobalt asshole. You are too human to be given the time of night. He’ll just break your heart dumbass.~~
> 
> **Secret Horrible Joke:** Dave’s former master’s name is Paysun Terhun….as in writer of Lad: A Dog and other Collie related fictions, Payson Terhune.


	2. Dave's POV on being delivered to/meeting Karkat

Dave waits in the lobby while the delivery guys talk to the concierge. It’s a pretty nice place from what he can see. White blue- veined marble, a few chairs set out at intervals, potted plants. The floor is tile with an abstract pattern. (White, black and blue.) A few art objects set along the walls. The Grand Highblood is not hurting for funds if he can put his moirail up in a place like this.

The discussion with the concierge ends, and apparently they’re free to go up now. Dave follows the delivery guys to the elevator and up to top floor. From there it’s a short walk to the penthive apartment. Thick carpet, (which is a ridiculous expense for a hallway carpet) more marble, more plants, more artwork. The delivery guys go up to the door and ring the bell, and the door is answered by the troll himself. 

He’s short for a troll, which makes him about Dave’s height. Bright red eyes, messy don’t-give-shit hair. Broad across the shoulders, and heavy, a nose that’s been broken at least twice and nubby horns. Scars on his hands, scars on his chin, lip and throat. Does not dress to impress. Jeans, t-shirt, sweater. Not too bad looking for a troll actually, not that that would exactly matter. He does not look happy, which actually does kind of matter, and at one point questions the restraints with a look of disapproval. (The delivery guys assure him that chains are just for liability purposes and that “the human,” is actually quite docile.)

The apartment is pretty nice looking from what Dave can see in the entry way. Opulent in terms of size rather than style or furnishing. It’s also a bit of a mess–apparently master doesn’t consider him something to clean up for. Dave wonders if–as a pitch concubine–he should be offended and make a comment about the mess. The cuffs come off, and Dave settles into a relaxed-attention position while master signs the paperwork. The delivery guys give him his sylladex and strife specibus and abscond. 

Dave is left alone with his new master. They stare at each other for a few minutes before master says, “so uh, I don’t know what my moirail told you, but I don’t need a concubine.”

This was something Dave already knew. “Master Makara said you’d say that,” Dave says blandly. “He said I wasn’t to pay it no mind and get my seduction on.”

“That is definitely not a thing that’s happening,” master says huffily. “Like I said, I do not need a concubine, so put anything Gamzee said about seducing me out of your mind.”

Dave thinks about the perigee of lessons in pitch seduction, of weird conversations over dinner with the Grand Highblood, of dance lessons, of losing his place because apparently he’d be the perfect pitch concubine, and says brightly, “I don’t know master, doesn’t he outrank you? I wouldn’t want to get in trouble for not following orders.”

Master looks offended. It might even be the “good” kind of offended. “Gamzee is my moirail,” he says. “And I’m saying it doesn’t matter what he told you. No seduction is taking place, not that I think you’d be any good at it.”

Dave smirks. “Aw, why not master? I haven’t even tried any of my smooth moves on you yet.” Dave keeps up the smirk while letting his gaze fall from master’s face, down to his shoulders, torso, hips. 

“Let’s just say I suspect you were probably a better gladiator than you are a sex worker,” master says with dry amusement. “‘Wouldn’t want to get in trouble for not following orders,’ isn’t exactly sexy. Like I said, I don’t need a concubine, so don’t worry about ‘following orders.’”

This was not an order Dave actually intended on following because Grand Highblood. But Dave lowers his gaze and says, “yes master. Can I ask what my duties will be?” 

“I actually have no idea. For now just consider yourself on vacation. What’s your name anyway?”

Dave is very nearly genuinely insulted. What the hell? The guy didn’t know who he was? If you were going to get a gladiator as a concubine, shouldn’t you at least have a passing familiarity with their career? “Dave Strider, not actually a fan, huh?”

“I don’t watch bloodsports,” master says bluntly. “Which I guess my moirail didn’t mention.”

“Nope. Just that he bought me to get your rivalry on with. I thought that meant I’d be doing some sexy sparring with a fan, but looks like I guessed wrong,” Dave says. Why would you give a gladiator to a troll who didn’t even like blood sports? Are they supposed to argue sexily about the ethics? And also, there were trolls against blood sports? “So master, where do you want me?” There may or may not have been intentional inuendo in that. 

“I have a guest respite block,” master says, and shows you the guest room. Which is nice and of course has a recuperacoon. “Nice,” Dave says, looking around. It’s a good sized room, with a desk and a dresser. “Cozy, but I can’t use the recuperacoon. Unless of course watching a human babble about the pink marmosets scampering on the ceiling is a thing for you, master.” 

Master looked annoyed, but not angry at the flippancy. Also a little concerned? “Great,” he says irritably. “What kind of bedding do you need?”

“A flat padded platform. I can sleep on your couch until you can find something for me to sleep on.”

“Right. We’ll go with that then,” master says. “Is there anything else you’re going to require?”

Dave hands over his list of dietary requirements. “These are my dietary requirements and a list of troll foods I can’t have. Aside from that I just need my sylladex and strife specibus pending your inspection of same.” 

Master takes the paper and studies it, then inspects the sylladex and strife specibus before handing it over. Then he shows Dave the rest of the apartment. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No new lines, but I did have Dave pay a lot of attention to things a) Karkat doesn’t care about like decor b) Things Karkat no longer notices because he’s gotten used to it. c) also noticing Karkat himself, which Karkat also doesn’t do. Karkat is built, and is also kind of beaten up and scarred.


	3. Dave's POV for when Karkat tries to give him money

The apartment building is nice, upper caste with a concierge desk, lots of security, and it’s own gym with a swimming pool. The Grand Highblood keeps his moirail in high style. Dave has the run of the entire apartment but has not seen the inside of master’s respite block. (Dave is not trying that hard, honestly. Master does not want a concubine. Dave is a white elephant, and the elephant in the living room.)

He has spent most of his time in the apartment, with intermittent visits to the gym. (Master’s neighbors do not disdain his use of the exercise equipment. They are curious about who he belongs to, but leave him alone for the most part, except for the few who seem to be fans of master’s writing. So despite being a mutant, master is not exactly the building pariah, despite appearances; the guy hasn’t left the apartment at all in the time Dave’s been here.)

Dave is lounging on the couch, (topless, very casual, implied availability) idly flicking through the channels on the TV when master comes up to him. “So I noticed that you haven’t really gone out or anything,” master says. “Despite my saying you could go out if you wanted.”

Dave shrugs. “Maybe I’m a homebody, master.” _Maybe I don’t have any money and don’t want to deal with trolls getting in my face for being unattended property._

Master sighs. “Look, I’m willing to give you some money so you can go out to a movie or a bar or do whatever it is gladiators might want to do on vacation. You don’t need to be cooped up in the apartment if you don’t want to.”

This is actually kind of precious. The guy’s a mutant, surely he has to realize that it’s not exactly safe to be alone and not on an errand or performing some function if you’re low enough caste or a slave. For all the “reformations” the Empress supports, it’s just not that safe to go out unless you have company with you. (Maybe being the moirail of the Grand Highblood distorts your idea of safety. But master didn’t really seem that sheltered and naive in other respects.) “You want me to go out,” Dave says slowly. "Alone."

Master frowns huffily. “Is that a problem?”

Dave lifts the wrist with the ID bracelet. “This says I’m entertainment, master,” Dave says patiently. “I’d have to fend off various offers and I’m pretty sure you don’t have a sex worker management license.”

“From what the entertainment rags indicate, gladiators and other athletes have nights out on the town,” Master says, looking baffled.

“Indeed they do! With an entourage of support staff to set up a perimeter!” Dave corrects cheerfully. “I am now a sex worker. I only had about a perigee of training, but still.” Dave pulls his legs up onto the couch, and goes for a sultry pose. Up on one elbow, one knee up, one hand casually near his crotch. Master does not look impressed. “If I go out I need to be in the company of my master.” Dave waggles hiseyebrows. "Or people might get the wrong idea.“

“What if they think I’m your pimp?” Master asks with a faint, amused smile tilting his mouth.

“Oh, then we kick their asses,” Dave says, and sits up. Stretches lazily, all casual confidence. (Also showing off the muscles.) “C’mon master, let’s go, treat me in a manner that I’d like to become accustomed to.”

Master snorts. “Okay, fine. This is not a date though.”

“Two guys, going out, staying on their own sides of an invisible no-romo line gotcha,” Dave says agreeably. He gets up and heads for his respite block, fully intending to dress to impress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Dave’s POV Karkat comes off as being very naive. (He isn’t actually, he was just thinking of Dave as “the gladiator” instead of “the human slave sex worker.” But he really should have thought of the security perimeter in an athletes “entourage.”) Dave is still doing the “try to seduce owner” thing, but he’s being more casual about it. He notices things that Karkat does not, such as: Yes Karkat, you have fans among your neighbors. _You are not actually a pariah._ You’re the moody and sensitive romance novelist. _Sh, don’t disturb him, he’s thinking about his Muse!_
> 
> Of course, Dave is more interested that the neighbors don’t kick him out of the gym in the first place. Nor has anyone recognized him as “Rising Human Tier Two Gladiator, Dave Strider,” which is slightly sad but also a relief. Because there might be a fight. And then he would get in trouble, and he doesn’t know what the penalties for “being troublesome” are.


	4. Dave's POV during his acquisition by Terhun

It’s maybe a day after Dave’s tenth fight as a neophyte gladiator when Mistress Murane calls him into her office. There’s another troll there, a teal woman with one forked horn, and one straight horn. The teal gives him a critical once over as he enters the room, and he straightens up, a little self conscious to be barefoot, wearing an old, ragged uniform tunic and short pants. “Mistress, you sent for me?” he asks.

“Is this the condition your neophytes are usually kept in?” the teal asks critically.

“No, mistress, these are just comfortable. The school takes good care of us,” Dave says immediately. There were worse places to end up, the instructors were always really clear on that. (Dave agreed. The school was hard, and he’d been scared at first, but he liked fighting. He liked outwitting and defeating his opponent. He liked being pretty much the fastest neophyte in the current neophyte chain for the school.) He might have gone on to describe regular meals, rewards for good behavior and having one of the younger students to do his laundry for him, but Mistress Murane gave him a quelling look.

“Strider, this is Lady Atelir Sembok, a procurement agent for His Highness, Prince Paysun Terhun,” Mistress Murane says. 

_A fish? The first offer is from a fish?_ He manages not to say that out loud, but it’s a close call. It’s not something he would have ever expected. He would have thought maybe some well to do upper caste troll making an offer. Cerulean, Cobalt, maybe Indigo. Most likely, ending up in a multi-owned chain. But not a fish. He’s pretty sure it’s not something Mistress Murane ever expected either. “I’m honored to meet you, Lady.” His voice cracks, and he flushes.

“I was impressed by your sixth fight, and sent videos to His Highness,” Lady Sembok says. “He was likewise impressed, and sent me to interview you for his chain.”

Dave swallowed nervously. He couldn’t tell if he’d made a good first impression or a bad one. (Probably bad. He’s barefoot and his tunic has been washed ten million times and has huge gaping holes in it. Goddammit. Goddammit.) “With Mistress Murane’s permission, I could show you to a meeting block.”

The teal smiles slightly. “Perhaps you’d like an opportunity to be more presentable?”

“Yes, with Mistress Murane’s permission?”

Mistress Murane nods. “Go to the meeting block on six green, Strider when you get dressed.”

Dave is off like a shot to his room. He pulls on his newest uniform, combs his hair and starts for the meeting block, and then realizes he’s still barefoot. He turns and rushes back to his room, and shoves his feet into his best pair of boots. He runs flat out down the halls, narrowly avoiding collisions. (He mostly ignores demands that he slow down.) He reaches the meeting block, straightens his clothes and his hair, and goes inside.

The interview…the interview is pretty tough. Lady Sembok shows him videos of his previous fights, asks him in depth questions about his tactics. She wants to know what he thinks he could have done better, if there were things he would have done differently. She asks what he likes about fighting. She asks him if he has any ambitions, if there are any gladiators he particularly admires. (He spends an embarrassing amount of time gushing about gladiators like Truesteel and Stonearm.) She asks about his training and his instructors. She asks about any illnesses he’s had.

At the end of the interview he’s a little dizzy and sick from a combination of terror and excitement. All he can think about is the details of the interview, wondering if he went wrong somewhere, if he said something wrong. He can’t eat dinner that morning, and he sure as hell can’t sleep. His friends are a combination of pissed, envious and proud and give him loads of shit about the interview. Dave barely pays attention to anything his friends are saying. (They think this is hilarious.)

It’s a week before he hears anything. He gets called to the meeting block (he struggles into his good clothes) again, and there’s a second interview. This time it’s by computer, with his prospective owner. His Highness asks most of the same questions, and tells him about the training and where he’ll be living. Dave…can hear himself babbling, and can’t seem to stop himself. He answers the questions in detail, excessive detail, and goes off into tangents that his instructors would have smacked him for. His Highness seems amused though,  so there’s that at least.

It takes two days for the final decision. Two extremely agonizing days. It’s not that much of a relief to find that the sale was successful, though. It’s a big unknown that he’s going into, and he can’t quite process it. He kind of drifts through the packing up of his few belongings (jewelry, a little money, his posters, a few video grubs) and allows himself to be restrained and escorted to the private vehicle that was going to take him to a ship that was going to take him to his new owner. “You look very sick, and also very excited,” Lady Sembok says.

“Yes lady,” Dave says.

“Everything will be fine,” she says reassuringly. “His Highness is demanding, but very fair, and he takes good care of his chain. You’ll have the very best trainers and equipment.”

Dave wants to say something impressive and confident, but what he says is, “I’m okay, lady. It’s just a lot to take in.”

“You’ll be fine,” Lady Sembok says. Then she gives him a frown. “As long as you learn to avoid showing weakness!” Her tone is disapproving, but also a little teasing.

Dave finds himself relaxing a little bit. “I have the best mask, you don’t even know how good it is. No one sees past it,” he drones in a monotone.

“You still look like you’re going to puke,” Lady Sembok says. “So I don’t think so.” She paps his cheek gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit my [tumblr!](http://othercat2.tumblr.com/)
> 
> I also have a [dreamwidth.](http://othercat.dreamwidth.org/)
> 
> Feel free to ask questions, or give me a prompt!


	5. TFW (you're the baby mama)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Hardy: I now need to know just how/why Dirk was a surprise. Everybody got drunk and decided to rethink their sexuality?

You and your bestie used to have bitch sessions about your respective families, and things you won’t talk about to anyone else. You were close, had been close since Junior High and well into college and after when you were trying to get your careers started. David wanted to be a filmmaker, you wanted to be an author. You were close like siblings, though your mutual friends kept teasing you about being practically married. 

Then there's a party and cuddling turns into snogging turns into the sex turns into a plus sign on a plastic indicator and then you're a terrified idiot. You hide the pregnancy from your increasingly worried best bro who is worried because you haven’t hanged out with him in months. Then you keep the baby out of a desire to Prove That You Are a Capable Parent not like YOUR parents and eventually a third party who you have been telling your woes to flat out tells you to tell him because they are at their wits end with you and firmly believe the dad should probably know at this point.

So you're a semi-successful writer at this point and wait till your bestie's birthday. Just, casually arrive with a tiny one year old bebe and the diaper bag and the baby carrier thing. David figures it out and goes, "What the hell Mona?" 

And you were going to play it cool but instead you babble. You babble a lot about how you can support yourself and he doesn't have to be a dad if he doesn't want to and you would never expect anything from him, it's just Trisha thought you should know, okay?

And David.

David.

David is not paying attention to a word you say; instead he's paying attention to Dirk, who has at this point decided to throw his bottle. David stoops down before you can do it and picks the bottle up and goes. "If I give you this, you're going to throw it again, aren't you?" Then, "well okay I guess I don't mind playing fetch," as Dirk makes grabby hands at the bottle. Dirk takes the bottle and doesn't throw it, watching David back.

The three of you retreat to a couch after a round of surprised congratulations and teasing questions from friends. You’re a little in a daze, this is not going how you thought it would go. You though David would be angry for some reason. Either because of the baby or not being told about the baby or something. Instead, he’s some combination of surprised and relieved and happy. “I’m sorry,” you tell him. “Well, it’s not a giftcard for Olive Garden, but you get points for one hell of a surprise,” he says. Then, “I thought you were angry about what happened that night.” 

You take a breath and let it out. Dirk wiggles around in your arms, and you let him down, and get his horsie out of the diaper bag. He romps it around by your feet. “I was angry and scared,” you tell him. “I wasn’t thinking really clearly at the time. I thought you’d be angry.” 

David gives you a look somewhere between hurt and understanding. “Because I said I never wanted kids?”

You nod. “I got pretty angry at all the things I thought you were going to say if you knew. So I kept it from you.”

“Well I can’t say I wouldn’t have freaked out,” David says. “I’m kinda in shock right now, but I’m not angry? Just. Wow. I have a kid. That not something I’d ever thought I’d say. I have a kid. Well, you have a kid, but I helped. I can continue to help, maybe? I mean I can be the kid’s favorite uncle or something. I don’t know how good I’d be at being an actual dad or anything. But I want to help?” 

You rest your hand on his arm, and he twitches a little. “You can be Dirk’s dad, if you want,” you say. “Do you want to?” 

David look a little hesitant at first, then he nods. “Yeah, I think I do.”


	6. The most educational fifteen minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Madame Hardy: do you feel like doing a three-sentence on two for mirth Dave sparring with his uncle?

The kid watches Hal and Dirk spar with an assessing, analytical eye, though he doesn't offer any comments or critiques. You think it might be because he doesn't feel comfortable yet. He's been polite and curious, asking questions about you and obliquely, his father, but he's keeping himself a little distant. (How much of that is Derik's bullshit, and how much of that was how he was raised after?) 

The kids get to the end of their spar, you critique their blade and footwork. When you do, you draw the kid into the conversation, asking what he thought of the bout. The kid offers a few criticisms, and some praise. (Hal needs to stop doing moves that he's too short too pull off, Dirk left himself open a couple times.) He asks questions about the sword styles. 

"You think you might want to spar?" you ask him. 

"Sure," he says, and takes the practice sword Dirk offers him. The style the kid uses feels like European longsword, though there's a bit that feels like fencing. He's fast and light on his feet. He pulls his hits pretty well, but you can tell that if he wanted to he could hit like a ton of bricks. It's the most educational fifteen minutes of your life, and you end up on your ass at the end of it because he kick-trips you in an unexpected maneuver you really should have expected. 

"We should get you into the Olympics," you say as he helps you to his feet. 

"Pretty sure that's an illegal move in fencing Dad," Hal says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to visit/ask questions/prompt me on my tumbr! My ask box is [here](http://othercat2.tumblr.com/ask)


	7. Totally Valid Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lwoorl: So, could you write about David's opinion about Karkat before vs his opinion on him after the talk they had over pesterchum about Dave's future? If you someday also write the discussion David had with Dave right before that conversation I would owe you my life.

Dave is an okay kid. (Okay he’s in his twenties, but still. He’s a goddamn kid.) You aren’t at all sure what you expected when you started talking to him, and later, met him at the airport for his visit. You’d seen him on TV and online, but TV takes off a few pounds and most of your actual personality. (You wish you’d reached out to him sooner.) Dave is smart, apparently shares the family sense of humor and is really, really good at a swordsmanship style that seems vaguely European. (No katanas shitty or otherwise here.)

You were maybe worried the kid would be some kind of basket case outside of TV appearances and comments on social media. You’d met repatriate activists, and while they never went into too much detail, it was always enough to make you uneasy and angry that anyone had gone through the shit they had. (It was also pretty shitty they were still going through shit.) But he seems okay, if also really nervous.  

It is pretty much not Striderly to take notice of such things, so you spend a lot of time distracting him until he relaxes. He’s impressed by your penthouse and immediately feels the need to text about it to the Emissary. He laughs about whatever the Emissary texts back and tucks his phone away.

You…really don’t know how you feel about that. It becomes pretty clear that Dave likes the Emissary, and frequently texts him, or sends him pictures. Framing it as some kind of survival thing or something didn’t really work. Dave acted exactly like someone in a relationship, not someone pretending to be in one for their own survival.

There’s a lot of discussion over dinner, the three of you feeling Dave out, Dave trying to figure you out. He doesn’t talk about Bro, which you aren’t really surprised about. You wouldn’t want to talk about Bro either. He does talk about having been a gladiator, and a little about having been sold to the Grand Highblood. He also gives Hali a little lecture about trying to get him in trouble. “It’s not just rude, it can get someone killed,” Dave says. “You don’t set people up like that. If you get caught, everyone’s going to be against you, when you could have had allies instead.”

Hali taps his chair leg with his heel. “It’s not like he would have done anything to you,” he says.

“Yeah but you didn’t know that, did you?” Dave points out. “It’s the principle. Karkat’s an Emancipationist so I wasn’t in any danger but if I had been, it would have been your fault.”

The conversation goes on to other things, but you can’t help but thinking about the Emissary. About what the guy was actually like. Dave seemed pretty fond of him, but you weren’t sure you could trust that. Did Dave have the frame of reference to know whether someone was “dating material”? Was the Emissary actually as much of an “Emancipationist” as he talked up being? (Did it even mean the same thing?)

So you worry. You have _completely valid concerns._

Dave talks up how the Emisssary, “Karkat” didn’t want a concubine. He also talks about “trying to get his seduction on” and some of the training he went through. “I really liked the dance lessons. The other classes were kinda dumb though,” he says, dismissing them. “I ended up meeting a bunch of facilitators and sex workers online, and they liked my dancing, so that was pretty great. I got reblogged a couple times by actinicFlame who’s a well-known courtesan who blogs about dancing, mostly. 

Mona wants to see the dancing, because she’s a traitor. (Mona: “David, it’s obviously something he’s proud of, and enjoys doing.” You: “It’s some kind of sex thing. I do not want to see my nephew doing some kind of sex thing.” Mona: “David, it’s clear the dancing is an art thing, not just a ‘sex thing’ let him show off.”) You do not want to see the dancing, but are over-ruled by the boys, who are also traitors.

The kid takes it out to the roof. Under Mona’s direction you and the kids have dragged up a few of the chairs that usually live out by the pool. Dave performs a dance with a lot of leaps and spins with his sword, a second slow dance with a lot of posing, and then something he refers to as his “victory dance,” which involves a lot of strutting around and posing and swinging his sword.

You can’t help but be impressed. You think he could probably do the dancing professionally, in the UPT. You think he could probably go to school for it, and make your suggestion for it a few nights later. He could probably get into one of the modern dancing troupes, or maybe start a troupe of his own. The kid gives you a skeptical look.

“I didn’t really get an early enough start, Uncle David,” the kid says.

“I don’t necessarily buy that,” you say. “I think you have the chops to go on and have a really successful career at dancing. I did some research about schools you could go to, with good dance programs.”

“Karkat already has me enrolled in classes,” Dave says. “Mostly a bunch of literature classes. At school feeding institutes in the Empire.”

“The ones you talked about him signing you up for out of the blue?” You ask. “That you complain about?”

“Like the dance programs you want me to sign up for?” Dave shoots back. “Which are in the UPT, not the Empire, where I actually live. With my master.”  

“Is the story about you being rescued by the Grand Highblood and put in the custody of the Emissary not true?” you ask. “I mean, that the concubine thing was completely fake, like the fake married trope?”

“It was a joke, which is different from being fake,” Dave says. “At least as far as I can tell from what the Grand Highblood thinks. And what he thinks is what matters, and what he thinks is that I belong to Karkat.”

“So you belong to Karkat, but you also belong to the Grand Highblood, and you have to put up with what they want,” you say. “Where does what you might want come into play?”

“Well, I _want_ to be able to fight in the ring, but that’s not going to happen,” Dave says with considerable amusement. “And you can’t exactly offer me that.”

“Hey, fencing is a thing,” You say. “Hell, there are all kinds of sword competitions out there. I’m sure we could find you something. The sky’s the limit, kid.”

“I still belong to Karkat,” Dave points out. “Who does not live in the UPT.”

“But you don’t have to,” you say. “Even with this Grand Highblood hanging over your head telling you where you have to be, if Karkat cared about you, he’d let you stay here, right?”

“There’s no ‘if,’” the kid says, a little angry, but also strangely amused. “I know he cares about me. He’s so careful it’s almost a little annoying sometimes.” 

“Well okay,” you say. “So say I buy you from the Grand Highblood.”

“No,” the kid says.

“What, you don’t think I got the money? I bet I could buy him out a couple times.”

“Yeah, but then I’d owe you,” the kid says, glaring at me. “And I don’t know what you want.”

“You’re _family_ , kid,” you say, feeling a little frustrated at this point. “I want to know you’re safe. I want to make up for not being around to call CPS on that asshole. Jesus kid, you got raised by my asshole brother and sword and sandal epics I have a concern!”

The kid flushes red at that. “I’d still owe you, Uncle David. You can’t just--argh!” His hands go up in the air, form a gesture, a diamond with the first two fingers of either hand. You know that symbol is the one for moirallegiance and “pale” feelings in general. “It’s appreciated Uncle David, really. Don’t offer to buy me, don’t make an offer to the Grand Highblood for me. It will not go well.”

“Kid--” you start to ask if he is actually in danger but he shakes his head.

“Nope, look,” he says, lowering his hands. “I can’t give you a reassurance you’d actually believe,” he says. “You don’t have anything the Highblood would want that would be more than making his moirail happy. He thinks I can make his moirail happy, and I really care about his moirail. But I can’t give you a reassurance you’d believe, because _you don’t know any of the signs_ and _I keep forgetting._ ”

“Signs, huh.”

“Codewords and handsigns,” Dave says. “Which I shouldn’t be telling you about. There’s ones for ‘yes I really am safe,’ and ones for ‘no I am not safe’ and ‘can I trust you’ and things like that.” He gives you a sour, irritated look. “And I can’t reassure you, so you need to talk to Karkat yourself.”

“Okay,” you say. “Kid, I really am sorry about Bro. If I’d known the asshole had somehow reproduced...”

“You cut off contact, right?” Dave says. “How would you have known?” 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have,” you say. Maybe Bro _had_ cared about you in his own way. After all he named his kid after you.

“No, fuck that,” Dave says. “Don’t even think of feeling guilty about it. I would have cut him off eventually if he hadn’t died. I won’t say it didn’t mess me up as a kid, but as an adult I can say he was a shitty custodian, and the cutting off contact was the only thing you could have done, okay?”

You want to argue that, and you do, a little. But the kid is pretty definite about what he thinks about your guilt. There’s some more arguing about the Grand Highblood, going to school in the UPT and the like, but the kid eventually argues you into talking to Karkat.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was not actually able to get the conversation as heated as Alpha Dave implied.
> 
> Also: Please feel free to give me prompts [at my tumblr!](http://othercat2.tumblr.com/ask)


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